No raptor rapture here

It's no wonder my dating life is extinct.  Look what I have to deal with:

Impressive.  The camera angle really makes those tiny dinosaur arms look a lot longer.  

Is that a drill next to his head?  So it wasn't an asteroid after all...just Darwinism.

Gesundheit.

I won't argue with you there, buddy.  And it's a melfie in an airplane bathroom.  Good God, you've taken the public toilet backdrop to new heights.  

And you, sir, have taken Photoshop to a new low.  (But I will give you points for choosing a reptile other than a python.)  It's a good thing that little guy gave you a ride after he bit off your feet.  

So, in closing, I'm just not feeling a connection with these Cretaceous Casanovas...maybe it's because I don't wear dinosaur jammies, maybe it's self-preservation because I'm a mammal who's lower on their food chain.  Either way, I'll leave these opportunities for some paleontologist living in coastal Montana about a million years from now.

Panty raid

Oh, the things you find on online dating sites...

No, no you wouldn't.  

And what's this "if you wear panties" ridiculousness?  Who's not wearing panties?  Going commando is gross.  I know only one person who occasionally has an unsanctioned commando afternoon and that's my five-year-old nephew.  

Aside from the fact that this is unsanitary, and weird, it's dangerous.  I appreciate a good full-coverage pair of briefs.  I'm not wearing a string bikini nor am I wearing a thong.  Sorry to destroy your fantasies.  I just don't enjoy picking out a wedgie all day or flossing my lady bits.  Both of those tiny scraps of material would be considered choking hazards.  Mine would lead to full-on suffocation.  It's all fun and games until somebody's convicted of manslaughter.

Besides, I'm sure you heard about that dog who ate 62 hair bands and eight pairs of briefs earlier this year.  Don't be that dog, ladies.

But is this really fun?  And for who?  I'll tell you what would amuse me--having this mysogynist do it first.  You go ahead and stuff those two-day boxers or skid-marked tighty whities in there, bucko.  I'm sure it's hot.

Speaking of tighty whities...imagine the joy when this showed up:

Seriously.  Usually the guys who post shirtless photos are sporting a six-pack, not a quarter barrel.  While I admire your confidence, I do wish that this bathroom melfie included a hideous shower curtain to distract me from those briefs that are chock full o' nuts.  I might just gag--no panties needed.

Count me out

If you've read any of my previous posts, you know that correct spelling and grammar are high on my list.  That being said, you can also infer that counting is up there, too.

Where's that bucket?  Someone please just drown me in it.  Or let one of those pythons have a go at me.  

Ok, there are four things here, not six.  I know some people might be like, "Maybe there aren't six things he can't live without; maybe he's not that materialistic."  Well, he is human and I can list off a lot things we can't live without...water, air, food, the sun (you know if that goes out we die, right?), heart, brain...that's six right there.  Simple biology can fill in the blanks.  But this spelling bee champ has listed only four, the first of which may actually be biological...his "gutair."  

Gutair...gut air...farts?  It's common knowledge that a man's love of flatulence is inversely proportional to a woman's appreciation of the same, so this may be a valid listing--for a guy.  While you're mighty pleased with yourself after crop dusting the kitchen, your significant other is gagging as she is also trying to make sure that none of it got in her mouth.  If you've got "gutair" and "ciggerttes," I bet her list of necessary items includes Beano and Febreze.

This list is better.  Kudos on the spelling, but I'm taking away points for using the same answer twice.  I'm taking away points for using the same answer twice.  See?  It doesn't work.  Still five.

Now here's one I can get behind.  He's got family and basic needs listed (namely "home," but the last two could also be considered basic needs...don't judge me).  So close...but, alas, seven is not six.

I know you think I'm being nit-picky, but the field doesn't say "The six things I could never do without within a tolerance of +/- two things."  Even my two-year-old niece can count to ten with no problem.  My oldest nephew just had to demonstrate that he could count to twenty to enroll in Kindergarten.  I think we've found three children left behind here.

Earlier this year a young woman in India walked away from her wedding after asking the soon-to-be-groom to add 15 and six.  His answer was 17.  It's a global epidemic.

Hold the mayo

Sometimes when I'm going to check my online matches I start to type "eham" instead of "eharmony"...which leads me to believe that I am actually more interested in finding a sandwich than I am in a relationship.

My subconscious might be on to something, though, especially when I am presented with options like this...

...which, ironically, involves a sandwich.  And a snake.  But of course it involves a snake.  It always seems to involve a snake.

Unless it involves an armadillo:

Or a cat in a tank:

Don't get me wrong.  I love me some armadillo and some battle cats.  But what I really enjoy is some turkey...

...on a sandwich.  

Bucket list

You wish, you hope, you pray...and the universe sends you this guy:

Really, eHarmony?  Really?  For $20 a month I should be able to filter out "men who treat a home center as a clothier" in my search options.

Dude, Chicken Little called and said it was a false alarm.  You can go back to storing your catch or mixing a small batch of concrete...or whatever else one should be doing with a five-gallon bucket besides wearing like a palace guard.  Sigh.

Sometimes I really think God is just mocking me.  The Big Guy's like, "You've got a pretty good sense of humor, Tina, but I can one-up you.  I'm God."  For example, I own a home that overlooks a Catholic seminary.  That's right, a whole campus full of single, clean-cut educated men lacking face tattoos that I can't have.  Well played, God.  Well played.

Of course, maybe He intends for me to be single.  Surely all of these mismatches can't be signs from God?  I told you, though, He's a funny guy.  But really, what would I blog about..."Cooking for One:  How not to get tired of eating the same entree for dinner three nights in a row because you couldn't split the recipe" or "Living Alone:  How many deadbolts are too many?"

Maybe He's teaching me patience.  And tolerance.  If the latter is the intended lesson, then this blog certainly isn't helping my cause.  Every post probably pushes my bridal registry back another year.  By the time it comes to fruition it won't be Orrefors crystal, a Hudson's Bay blanket and a Frozen Concoction Maker, it'll be Fixodent, a new hip and matching lift chairs.  I just keep hoping that I'll be walked down the aisle at some point by my dad before getting wheeled down by six other relatives.

Even the soda machine at work mocks my singleness.  I bought a Diet Coke the other day and got a bonus can, too.  Sweet, right?  They said this:

F*** you, Coke.  God put you up to this, didn't He?

Wiener pics

Get your mind out of the gutter, people.  What did you think I was talking about?  Oooooh, you thought I meant actual penises.  Yes, penis photos and the Internet go together like bananas and peanut butter, hot dogs and ketchup, cucumber and dill...you get the idea.  And if you find yourself on an online dating site chances are good that one slipped through their filters for all the world to see.  But really, I don't need to see that on my phone.  Or on my work computer during lunch.  

I'm talking about family-friendly wiener pics.  As in wiener dogs.  The sheer number of profile photos featuring Dachshunds (and probably miniature pinschers because I can't tell the difference when they're laying down) amazes me.  Men are fascinated by their phallus, so why not have one as a pet?

These men have a lot of fun with their wieners.  They like to pet, scratch and play with them all day--they love getting them worked up.  Wieners love a good bone, and they're always excited when you come over.

Some men take their wieners very seriously.  They judge each other's on overall size, length and hair color.  The Dachshund Club of America lists breed standards that include being "long in body...with robust muscular development," "bold and confident head carriage," and skin that is "elastic and pliable without excessive wrinkling."  No one wants to see a wrinkled wiener.  

When not involved in wiener contests, some men like to snuggle with their wiener.  This guy likes wieners by his face.

A lot of men like to play with their wieners in bed.  And they usually want you to play with it too.  

Others prefer to play with them on the floor.  Ok...it's your carpet.

     

Some men like to dress them up.  I must admit that I like this one.  Call me kinky.

And some just like to show them off.  

But remember, if your wiener is on display for more than four hours, seek help.  It's a wiener, not a World Cup trophy.  Give that wiener a rest.

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